


Haytham's Letters

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Eagle and the Cross [45]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, HAPPY 4TH OF JULY, I need to go to bed, Letters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When going through his father's things in his house in Boston, Connor and Aveline discover a chest filled with unset letters Haytham wrote to Ziio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haytham's Letters

"Here ya go sir," the clerk said, unlocking the modest size house that had been closed since Haytham's death. "The former residence of Haytham E. Kenway." The man gave Connor an appraising look before glancing over at Aveline. The New Orleans Assassin glared back at the man and the clerk swallowed nervously. "Since you are erm… his son, the house is rightfully yours. Do whatever you wish with it." The clerk handed Connor the key and deed before leaving.

"Thank you," Connor called over his shoulder, but the clerk didn't hear and Connor was in no mood to pursue the man. He walked in, dust puffing up as he took a step. Despite his lavish upbringing, Haytham Kenway's home was rather modest.

"He lived like a miser," Aveline said, following Connor inside. "I thought you said your grandfather made his wealth from piracy?"

"He did, but clearly Father felt the opposite. Then again, I doubt my father had much time to enjoy the luxuries my grandfather's pirate plunder could afford him. Considering he was trained as an assassin."

"Yet, he still became a Templar," Aveline commented, picking up a trinket on a little table.

"And what about your parents?" Connor asked. Aveline gave Connor a brittle smile, before muttering something in French. Connor snorted, letting it go and continued to wander the house. There was nothing of interest in the living room or the kitchen and dining rooms. Connor made sure to stomp the floorboards looking for hidden doors or passage ways that his father may have conducted secret Templar business with, but found none. Aveline had no luck either.

Connor climbed the stairs, noting that one bedroom was a guest and the other was his father's. It was in his father's bedroom that Connor found anything remotely worth salvaging. The first thing that caught his eye was a sword. "This is… the Kenway family sword…" Connor whispered, holding the blade in hand and etched near the hilt was the name _Kenway_. He was pleased to note the weapon had a rather sharp edge on it.

"It belongs to you by birthright," Aveline said, admiring the weapon.

"I do not consider myself a Kenway," Connor said.

"But you don't use Davenport as a surname either," Aveline pointed out, watching as Connor sheathed to sword and attached it to his belt. Connor glanced at Aveline, but didn't say anything. Connor wandered over to the bookshelf, admiring his father's collection. The books he'll take. He'd get some of his recruits to pack them up and send them to the Homestead, and maybe even that portrait of his grandfather that was hanging on the wall and the one of his father beside it. So he could at least remember that man's face, remember all the mistakes he made.

" _Et qu'est ce que c'est_?" Aveline said, from the bed. She had knelt down and apparently found something. Connor heard the sound of metal against wood and Aveline pulled free a small metal box. She set it on the bed and broke the lock with a well-placed strike with the butt of her pistol.

"What did you fine?" Connor asked, though he already knew: Templar treasure.

"Well, this is odd," Aveline said, staring at the contents of the small chest. "Is this Native?"

"What?" Connor frowned, his father never spoke of the Mohawk people or anything relating to the Natives of the region. "Let me see," Connor said, crossing the room in three strides to come to Aveline's side and stared at the contents of the box. Within were several letters written in his father's neat hand and beaded jewelry and strips of leather. Connor held one of the beaded strips in his hand, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger. He'd recognize the pattern anywhere, for it was the same pattern his people favored. "It is Kanien'kehá:ka… Mohawk," Connor confirmed, "but why… would he even have these things? And why letters? Who are they from?"

"Or to," Aveline interjected, "he could have written letters but never sent them."

"Why?" Connor asked.

"How close were your parents?" Aveline asked. Connor stared at the letter in his hand. "Connor?"

"Mother never spoke of Father voluntarily, though she did answer the few questions I asked about him. Father only mentioned her once in the brief time I knew him. My reaction was not the… best and he never spoke of her again." Connor held a letter in his hand, he noted that it had one name on the envelope: _Ziio_. The name his mother gave to the white men since they couldn't pronounce Kaniehtí:io. Connor spotted a little book at the bottom. He set the letter down and tugged the book free.

"What is it?" Aveline asked, peering at it alone with Connor. Connor flipped it open. It was a sketchbook, the Templars he had slain, Charles Lee with his fluffy little dogs, Hickey in a tavern with a beer in one hand and a woman's tit in the other; sketches of the city, and the wildlife in the frontier.

"It is my father's sketch book, I did not know he could draw," Connor said, and he flipped through some more pages before nearly dropping the book.

"What?" Aveline asked, looking up from examining the letters. "Connor?"

" _Ista_ …" he whispered, lightly touching a sketch of his mother. He looked through all the rest of the pages, nothing but images of his mother. Then the sketches abruptly stopped. "He… sketched her," Connor said thickly. He dropped the sketch book into the chest and closed it. He picked the chest up. "I think we can come back tomorrow and retrieve the books with the recruits."

"Uh… yes," Aveline agreed, following Connor out.

* * *

 

_My dearest Ziio,_

_I'm sorry that we parted on such negative terms. I have come to realize that my actions ultimately drove you away and I regret it. For that I am sorry, but you must understand that I am a man with a heart divided. I'm torn between my loyalty and duty to the Order and my amaranthine love for you._

_It is only now, after the Assassin's Colonial Brotherhood has been eliminate, my sister safe and the man I once called friend and confidant dead at my feet that I realize… truly see for the first time, all the lies that have been woven after my father's untimely death. The Templars prey upon the weak minded, as I was back then. My father dead, my disillusion with the Brotherhood… all of it, made me easy prey for the Templars._

_Forgive me, I don't wish to tell you my entire life story but I feel comfortable enough to tell you these things for I feel that you would understand them. Regardless, Reginald Birch had quiet effectively hoodwinked me and maybe if I had remained an assassin after my father's death we could still could have been together._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_July 17, 1759_

_My dearest Ziio,_

_The colonies are ripe with unrest and murmuring of rebellion. The British Parliament has passed several piece of legislation that are rather unfavorable with the colonists. Naturally, my Order has flourished in these troubled times and we seek to manipulate events in our favor: be that rebellion or peace. Only time can truly tell._

_I hope you are well. Though I don't know why I even bother asking since these letters will never find their way to you. Regardless, it is polite and if anything my mother taught me still remains with me to this day is that I must be polite._

_I have set up a modest yet highly successful little bookshop, peddling all the greatest novels and pamphlets hailing from the Colonies and Europe. Needless to say, I loathe the Stamp Act as it hinders my business. Though to be honest, the bookshop is a clever ruse, since in the basement there is a meeting place for our Order. The Sons of Liberty preferring the_ Green Dragon _for their talks of rebellion._

 _I urge you to convince your people to stay out of this mess and I also implore you to convince them to sell your lands to William. We don't want to drive your people away, merely have it purchased in our name to keep_ others _off of it. You may stay on your ancestral lands and live has you always had, we have other ways of garnishing power and wealth without the need to gobble up land. Please, you must believe me, Ziio. I only wish to see that you and yours remain free._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_December 4, 1765_

_PS: Today is my birthday. I'm forty years old._

_My dearest Ziio,_

_You wouldn't smile at me today. No, definitely not after I inform you that I had lit the fuse that will lead these colonies into open war. There had been a so-called massacre, Samuel Adams scaremongering tactics no doubt, that I instigated along with Charles. I regret that lives were lost in the process but the Order has its rhymes and reasons and sometimes blood must be spilled in order for progress to advance. Surely you understand, even though you may not agree with me._

_My father is probably rolling his grave, cursing my very name. Maybe he is even threatening to drown me as I write this, ashamed of the son he sired. I hope he isn't. I truly hope he isn't. I have followed his teachings faithfully and I am convinced that the Templar philosophy aligns with what he taught me. Yet, there is a wriggling worm of doubt in my heart that he may be looking down upon me with shame oppose to pride. This doubt makes me question whether the Templars and the Assassins should truly continue fighting. We are very much the same in many ways with a few philosophical differences. Yet… I wonder if a third option cannot be found._

_Hopefully, if I make it out of this coming war alive, we can speak again in person. I have no grand illusion about rekindling our romance, but I do still love you. You are the only woman that I have ever loved. All the others had been to fulfill a baser and cardinal desire. You, Ziio, on the other hand had stolen my heart. Though I fear I had given it to you gladly._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_April 8, 1770_

_My dearest Ziio,_

_I write this to you in a shaky hand because… well, you never informed me of our son. I feel like I should scream and curse your name and call you every foul thing known to man, but I can't. I can't bring myself to do so._

_A son… our son._

_I don't even know his name. His birthdate, the first thing about him besides the fact that he is an Assassin!_

_I bet you are loathed to hear that. I am too. For that means our child is destined to slay me at some point, unless I can convince to give up this foolish notion of his and allow me to educate him and cure him of his ignorance. But I doubt that, I see too much of you in him already._

_My hand is also unsteady for I regretfully must inform you that I agreed to send him to the gallows. He nearly hanged by my order, but… a moment of paternity struck me and I… I freed him. Though a sniper upon the roof had already weaken the rope, it was still I that had thrown the dagger that freed our son._

_If only you had told me sooner, Ziio. I would have stayed! I would have been involved in our son's life! Why did you deny me such knowledge? Did I truly frightened you in our last moments together that you feared not only for yourself but for our unborn son? It breaks my heart if that is true for I would never hurt someone of my own flesh and blood. Now Achilles has tainted him against me, and I will probably never be able to forge any bond with my own son._

_How cruel of you, Ziio. How cruel._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_June 28, 1776_

_My dearest Ziio,_

_Connor. His name is Connor._

_Funny, I don't think that was the name you bestowed upon him when he was placed in your arms as a squalling newborn. I have wanted to ask him, but I never get the words right or find the proper moment to bring up such a subject. He's content to keep me at an easy distance, and I'm all too content to stay there._

_He's tall. A little taller than me. He gets that from my mother's side. She was ungainly and tall for a woman. He looks like you, but the Kenway jaw and nose are ever present in his face. He has your eyes, though. I cannot hold his gaze for long for memories of you will flood into my heart unbidden and I do not wish for our son to see me so weak. Though, I'm sure you taught him how to track and climb, for he is excellent at it, as you were._

_I knew you were feeling a trifle ill before we ended our romance, but I never would have suspected you were pregnant! Though in hindsight I should have since that was the only logical conclusion to our passion filled nights beneath the stars. I long for those days now, when times seemed simpler. Now… the war rages on and there is talk that come spring the Americans will be defeated since the winter is decimating Washington's Army._

_Charles Lee belittles Washington and he rightly should, yet I must give credit where credit is due (something my father taught me). Washington is a brilliant man. Despite his own personal misgivings, he does not show it to his men or the public. All they see is the strong and capable leader that they had appointed. He is cleverer than we gave him credit for and despite Connor's assistance, the man had won the respect of France and an alliance with her. And if rumor is to be believed, Washington is also a brilliant spymaster. I believe the Americans may yet win this war now. Only time will tell._

_Meanwhile, Connor and I have been hunting down a Templar by the name of Benjamin Church. Not only has he betrayed the Continental Army, but also the Templars. Both acts are unforgivable and thus we pursue him. Maybe there is hope for our son to be convinced of the Templar philosophy._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_March 1, 1777_

_PS: Connor has inform me of your death, yet I will still write these letters as if you were alive and I meant to send them to you._

_My dearest Ziio,_

_I fear that I may be joining you shortly, in that veil beyond death. Connor and I had a falling out, one that I was unable to amend. I should have told him sooner, from the start really, who caused the destruction of your village that ultimately lead to your death. It wasn't the Templars. No, it was George Washington, acting upon orders to destroy villages of the Native peoples that had allied with the French. I had confronted Washington and Connor with this evidence, hoping to break the bond between Washington and Connor and convince our son to join the Templars._

_Alas, another blunder I've made. I've misjudged him and he went rushing off to protect your village. No harm there, but… he was so very hurt from the deception that I had strung along. I feel guilty about it, wishing I had foreseen such a thing… Regardless, the past is the past and I can do nothing now to fix it._

_He's coming for me, Ziio, our son. Our child, conceived out of love, yet is now so filled with hate and rage that he refuses to listen to reason! Oh, what has this family come to? In my greying years I wish my father had never been seduced by stories of the Observatory, for then he would have never been an Assassin and I would have grown up like any other boy of means in London, blissfully ignorant of the secret war that raged in the shadows._

_Yet, is was this secret war that brought me to the Colonies, that brought me to you. So, I wonder if we would have ever met if I was just any ordinary person? Perhaps, perhaps not._

_Of all the mistakes I have made in my life, there is none that I regret the most than driving you away. It has haunted me all these days since. I wish, fervently to make amends to that, but I know there is no way I can now. Though, I hope someday these letters will find their way into our son's hands and he (hopefully) will read them, and maybe understand a little bit more about me. Since I leave him nothing in way of a proper inheritance other than my journal and whatever he wants to salvage from my humble house._

_With that, I will tell you what I should have told you years ago. Maybe it would have made a difference in the way things turned out between us. Regardless, I still feel as if I should have told you what I truly feel._

_I love you._

_Yours truly,_

_Haytham_

_September 14, 1781_

* * *

 

Aveline found Connor that night, sitting by the fire of their room at the inn. Tears dripping from his cheeks and more leaking from his eyes. He tried to speak but failed, and Aveline saw the letters cluttered at Connor's feet. She spoke no words, merely set the candle down on the floor and hugged him. He clung to her and cried. Cried for all that he had lost. And Aveline cried, though it was for Connor and the shattered pieces of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> I was playing AC3 today, and while I was getting ready for bed I had this idea that Connor and Aveline snoop through Haytham's house in Boston and they find a tiny chest filled with unsent letters that Haytham wrote to Ziio. Stuff that he didn't put in his journal for one reason or another. Originally, they were going to be love letters, but then they became more of him talking to her about stuff. Anyway…. Happy 4th of July! :D
> 
> Save an author, leave a review!


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